


Worthy Invalid

by TempusNoKitsune



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: 40's slang, Brooklynese, Chronic Illness, De-Serumed Steve Rogers, Hurt Steve Rogers, Illnesses, Insecure Steve, Kinda, M/M, Magic, Major Illness, Man Out of Time, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Sort Of, Steve Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, The Avengers Are Good Bros, Time Travel, Tiny Steve, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-06-16 11:42:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15436305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TempusNoKitsune/pseuds/TempusNoKitsune
Summary: Steve disappears on a Tuesday. Or rather, he seems to disappear from his home considering the fact that he is very much still completely visible, at least as far as he’s concerned. The only reason that Steve even knows that he’s disappeared is because of the rapid, nay hysterical, “conversations”- of people that he doesn’t even kind of recognize -going around him and over his head.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a huge fan of pre-serum Steve, and the idea of the Avengers having to deal first hand with all of Steve's former ailments is something that I have a little bit of a weakness for, so I wanted to take a crack at it.

Steve disappears on a Tuesday. Or rather, he seems to disappear from his home considering the fact that he is very much still completely visible, at least as far as he’s concerned. The only reason that Steve even knows that he’s disappeared is because of the rapid, nay hysterical, “conversations”- of people that he doesn’t even kind of recognize -going around him and over his head. He’s sinking bodily into the couch he’s sitting on, the lights are terribly bright, and he’s starting to get a headache from the uneven assault of raised voices. 

He closes his left eye and turns his head slightly to try and compensate for the deafness in his right ear, but closing his eye out of reflex has only served to remind him of just how tired he’s been this past week. He slowly opens up his eye again, then lifts his hand to rub at both eyes viscously as though he could wipe away the perpetual blurry nature of his vision. He opens his eyes again only to see that nothing at all has changed aside from the group’s proximity to himself, despite seeming to look right through or around him, rather then at him.

He lets out a soft sigh. “Pardon me, but who are all of you?”

The talking stops almost just as soon as he opens his mouth, they’d likely forgotten that he was there, not that it’s anything new. But of course, now they’re just staring at him like he’s grown a second head or something.

When they remain silent for more than a minute he decides to push for some sort of response.

“Not to whistle Dixie or anything, but I’m thinking you probably weren’t expecting me what with the way you’re all beating your gums.”

The man sitting next to him, a brunette that’s wearing sunglasses even though he’s positive that despite the near violent light, that they’re inside, is mouthing the words “beating your gums” like they’re sour. However, the blond perched on the low table in front on him seems stuck on “whistling dixie”.

“Steve?” 

It’s a small voice, like someone’s incredibly uncomfortable with themselves and being heard. He turns to pinpoint its origin only to land on a fairly well built man with curly brown hair and large glasses perched high on the bridge of his nose. The man takes a step closer, landing a hand on the couch-back.

The redheaded dame that was off to the side, having been curled up on her own little sofa earlier, has now shifted to her feet and padded closer to him. “Bruce?”

Steve blinks a few times before looking back to the man with confusion clear across his features.

“I’m sorry but, it seems that I’m at the disadvantage here, since you seem to know me, but I don’t know you.” He answers the man softly. There’s no use in flipping his wig just yet, or even getting slightly standoffish, after all, these people haven’t done anything even remotely wrong to him as of yet.

“Wait, hold on.” It’s the man next to him that’s talking his time, and somehow he seems to have gotten closer than he was last time, because when Steve turns to face him so that he can here the man as more than just a faint voice through a wall of cotton, he’s only (generously) maybe a foot from Steve’s face. “So you’re telling me that this pint size snack pack is not only Cap, but that he also doesn’t have a fuckin’ clue as to who we are?”

Bruce coughs lightly, “Something like that, yes. Though, to be more specific I think that somehow Steve has been replaced with a version of himself from the past, meaning that “our” Steve may be replacing this Steve in his time, but we’ll have to do some tests…”

Steve can feel his eyebrows coming together as he turns back around to look at Bruce. 

“Time travel?” He inquires as calmly as he can.

Bruce’s chocolate eyes hold a complicated sort of emotion which Steve chooses to peg as apologetic pity. “That’s not out of the question, but I have a bad feeling that it might be more related to magic…”

Steve opens his mouth, then closes it.

“Like-like Loki magic?” The blond asks, leaning forward precariously.

Alright, so he’s landed in some sort of mad house, maybe some AES mandated shelter. They’d stared him down relentlessly at a fair on Coney Island, to the point where 

Bucky had forcefully pushed his way in front of him and herded him to safety. Though, looking around at the group more thoroughly, they all looked to be in fairly good shape, so it’d have to be nationality or maybe education and that’s not counting the apparent psychosomatics. 

He nearly jumps out of his own skin when the man next to him drops a heavy arm over his shoulders. It’s an instinctual reaction from that point to rock up and onto his feet, squaring himself up almost immediately as though he can somehow make himself bigger. Through, after his nerves settle the feeling of embarrassment washes over him enough that his shoulders go from their rolled back position to finding a home up by his ears.

The brunette has his hands opened up by his head in the universal sign of surrender, but his mouth is quirked up in an amused smirk.

Steve coughed uncomfortably and shifted on his feet, but didn’t sit back down.

“Could someone please answer my question?”

“What question?” The brunette asks, their eyes still trained on each other.

“Who are you?”

The man hums, still smiling, but he doesn’t say anything. In fact, it’s the red-headed woman that takes over. The gently grasps his upper arm and turns his slightly as she points out each person and names them along with short, concise, descriptions.

She starts with the blond man next to her, the one with the purple glasses, and legs bent up under himself, weight all on his toes.

“This is Clint Barton. He works with the government as a spy and is the most accurate archer that I have ever met.”

She twists him around to look back over the couch at the man that he knows is named Bruce.

“Bruce Banner, the leading scientist in Gamma radiation, and the closest that we have to a professional in relation to the super soldier serum.”

He furrowed his eyebrows at that, but Bruce just smiled at him and shook his head, so he deigned to let it go for the moment. She taped his shoulder for him to turn to the brunette next to him, who was still intimately close.

“And this is Tony Stark, resident genius and asshole.”

Tony leans his head forward, his reflective glasses sliding down his nose to reveal rich brown eyes.

“Charmed I’m sure.” He butts in with a wink, and Steve can’t help the automatic heat that rises to the tops of his cheeks.

The woman seems like she’s more than immune to such behaviors and hardly evens to begin to roll her eyes before gently, but sternly turning his head in her direction.

“I’m Natasha Romanov, and I’m also a spy for the government. To the version of you that we’re familiar with we’re your team and family.”

Steve pulls in a few deep breaths, trying to process everything, or at least accept it. He nods tentatively, Natasha’s fingers still resting on the side of his jaw.

“Do you think you could tell us a little bit about where you came from?” She turned very slightly towards Tony, just enough to let him know that the next bit was directed his way. “Would that help any?”

The man shrugged unhelpfully. “Maybe, probably, I can’t be sure. It’s not like this is something I’m terribly familiar with, but I’m sure that Bruce and I can whip up something with some dates and places.”

Natasha looked back to Steve in silent question and he blinked his eyes a few times, resisting the urge to sit back and let his eyelids fall closed to relieve himself from the inevitable headache building from the overwhelming visual stimulation. He’d never really had the money for glasses. Besides his vision wasn’t bad enough that he couldn’t tell where he was or where he was going, everything was just slightly blurred and out of focus. He lifted a hand to rub at the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes tightly as though he could chase the light away. He’s sure that if he didn’t have what the doctors had called “tritanopia”, which meant almost nothing to him, but his mother had simplified as “seeing colours differently than everyone else, with more blues and pinks,” that the sheer vibrancy of the colours around him may have made his already throbbing head spin more as all of the colours began to blend together. (As it stands, his limited range of colour is actually nice for one, making colours more similar and giving him a softer blend that his art professor in equal parts seemed to love and hate depending on the project in question.)

“I’m...It’s May 3rd, 1941. I was in our apartment, working on a project.”

“Our?” Bruce prompts gently.

Steve runs a hand through his hair, trying not to let the combination of his near constant fatigue and the escalating headache seep into his voice, or cloud his attitude.

“Bucky and mine’s apartment, we’re goombare. It’s a real trash closet, but it’s not so bad for two lowdowns in Brooklyn.”

“Goom-bah-ruh.” Tony repeats.

Steve’s lips quirk at the corner. “Not from Brooklyn, huh? Don’t say it like that, too close to goomba- which I’m not saying Bucky’s not. Goomba’s a-” He lifts up his shoulders and wracked his brain for a moment, “like a clown with a tommy gun.” He lets out a snort at the thought before continuing on. “Goom-bah-ray. It means “like-family”.”

“In Brooklynese.” Tony fills in, his eyes twinkling over the rim of his glasses.

Steve snorts again, but smiles, “Sure thing, boss.” He teases with a heavy accent, getting a broad and bright smile for his troubles.

“You sure this is Steve?” The blond, Clint, asks incredulously. 

“Steven Grant Rogers, born July fourth, 1918 to Sarah and Joseph Rogers. Born and raised in Brooklyn, New York. If that’s not who you’re talking about, then yeah, you’ve got the wrong guy, but willing to bet I’m it since I’m where he’s supposed to be, yeah?” 

“You’re a sassy little firecracker aren't you?” Tony quips with a shit eating grin. Steve feels more comfortable than he did before. Tony’s a lot like Bucky in many ways, and seems like he doesn't take shit, but shovels it out by the truck full. Steve can deal with that, all this future-talk aside.

Steve raised an eyebrow and rubbed at his eyes again.

“Hey, you okay man?” Clint asked, leaning forwards at an angle that he shouldn’t be able to maintain while still balancing on the table. “You keep rubbing at your eyes and stuff.”

“Ah, yeah...” He replied sheepishly, pushing his hand down into his lap.

A hand lands on his shoulder and he whips his head around to look at Bruce.

“No you, you have a pretty long list of...ailments, right? Are your eyes bothering you?”

Steve shrinks down a little bit. “Nah, it’s okay.”

Tony makes a discontented noise, drawing Steve’s gaze as he narrows his chocolate gaze.

“Not buying it. J?”

“Yes, sir?”

Steve jumps in his seat, head snapping back as his eyes fly to the ceiling, searching for the voice that had seemingly come out of nowhere, he willfully ignores the snickers.

“Can you pull up Steve’s medical records from the 40’s.”

“Yes, master Stark.”

“The hell!?” Steve looks around some more, and would have fallen off the couch if not for Natasha’s quick reflexes when the large black rectangle on the opposite wall came to life in a flurry of words and bright light.

“It seems that Master Rogers suffers from astigmatism, scoliosis, partial deafness, arrhythmia, irregular heartbeat and palpitations, high blood pressure, stomach ulcers, pernicious anemia, fallen arches, frequent bouts of sinusitis and colds as well as past cases of rheumatic fever and scarlet fever, asthma, fatigue, and the broadly generalized “nervous trouble”, as well as a high possibility for diabetes and household contact with tuberculosis, which is all that is documented.”

“Holy shit,” Clint was leaning back on the table now, as though any of Steve’s illnesses could somehow become airborne and transfer to him, “how the fuck are you still alive?”

Natasha's elbow finds its way to the blonde’s stomach. Steve’s eyes had dropped from their search of the ceiling to his lap sometime in the middle of the list, but now he picks his head up and sets his jaw defiantly.

“Just luck I guess.”

“I’ll say.” Tony huffs out a laugh and slings an arm over his shoulder, tucking him in close to his side, and somehow Steve doesn’t feel belittled or suffocated. That in itself makes him a bit uncomfortable, he doesn’t even know this man and yet he feels comforted by him? That can’t be right. 

“Well,” Bruce cleared his throat, “You can stay in Steve’s, our Steve’s, room while you’re here, and I’ll start doing some test screens on the tower for any traces of magic. We’ll have to do some tests on you as well, but I think we should be able to avoid anything too invasive. If there are traces of magic we’ll call Jane and see if we can get Thor over to check out the readings and see if it’s a Loki thing.”

Tony hums, and his hand makes absent minded circular rubbing motions at Steve’s shoulder, and he stiffens up a bit unsure of what to do with himself. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that “their Steve” must be close to Tony, after all, it hasn’t been all that long and yet there seems to be very little semblance of personal space between them. Tony freezes up when he feels Steve stiffen, and his arm slipped away.

“Alright, Brucie bear,” Tony heaves himself to his feet, “Let's get this party started, shall we?” 

Bruce follows him to the far wall where it parts and slides open, and Steve just stares as they get into what must be an elevator and the metallic door slides closed in front of them.

“Ohhhh, does this mean that we have modern duty?” Clint asks excitedly.

Steve doesn’t know if he should be scared or interested.


	2. Chapter 2

The rest of the day isn’t terribly eventful. He doesn’t end up back in his time, and “their Steve” doesn’t make an appearance either. Steve did, however, discover that colour T.V. is not only uncomfortable to watch, but also leaves him with a massive headache. The computer is much worse. Music here has a low enough base that even when he covers up his good ear he can still get the general vibe of the music, that’s not to say that it was necessarily good, but he figures it would be normal for him to have different tastes, though they still haven’t told him exactly what time he’s in now…

Tony and Bruce don’t show up even for dinner, which is an almost overly large amount of Italian food that the others had delivered. Steve’s never really eaten food outside of a war period, and this is a bit extravagant, very tasty, and of course makes his stomach terribly upset.

Natasha shows him to his room, and then he’s left to his devices. He takes a guiltily long shower, and spends a full 30 minutes staring at the size of the clothes here. He pulls out a large shirt and puts the boxers that he was wearing before back on and decides to try not to think about it too much. All that having happened, the moment that Steve sinks into the bed, cocooned in the softest sheets that he’s ever felt, and the first mattress that hasn’t hurt his back, he just passes out.

When he wakes up it’s to bright light streaming in through the windows. Too bright to be the early morning, meaning that he must have slept in longer than his usual 6 AM, though to be fair he was in the future, and had been through what he thinks would constitute as a rough enough day to warrant a few extra hours of sleep. After all, here he didn’t have work to go to...or actually, anywhere to go to now that he thinks of it. That thought does not help him get out of the bed that feels a little too much like heaven for comfort.

He shakes himself, rolling from his place belly down on the bed to his back, and further until he can shift his lower half off of the edge of the bed, his bare feet brushing against a rug that’s really much softer than something should be that’s meant to sit on the floor. His feet sink down when he shifts his full weight on them, not that it’s a lot of weight overall, but it does the job. 

This morning he brushes his teeth and hair, and then promptly spends what must be a full hour pulling out multiple clothing options and then staring at the shirts, pants, and underwear that are easily three times too large for his slight frame. He’d had a similar issue the night before, but now it’s staring him more fully in the face and he’s not entirely sure how to feel. This means that “their Steve” is much larger than he is. How, he doesn’t know. Why, he doesn’t know. Frankly, it’s freaking him the hell out.

Finally he decides to just go with it, leaving on his current underwear, pulling on his pants from the day before even though they’re a bit charcoal mussed, and puts on the smallest of the button ups that he could find, though it still nearly reaches his knees, and he had to roll up the sleeves almost six times so that they don’t pour over his hands like waterfalls. At least it’s soft.

He shuffles to the elevator, feet still bare, and tries to remember what level the kitchen was on when he’s nearly given a heart attack by the disembodied voice that he’d heard once yesterday.

“Mister Rogers, may I help you find your destination?”

Steve has, in the past 6 seconds, plastered himself against the back wall of the elevator, and is breathing rather heavily.

“I-I-.....”

“I apologise if I’ve frightened you. I’m JARVIS, Master Stark’s artificial intelligence. I act as an...assistant of sorts to both Master Stark and all of those in the tower.” The voice, Jarvis, explains calmly. The voice has pitched down slightly, and comes out slower, assuaging his nerves slightly.

“O-....kay.” He tries to pull in a long, deep breath before speaking again. “Do...Do you think you could get me to the kitchen?”

“Would you like to be taken to the kitchen on the communal level, where some of the others are currently residing?”

“Yes, please...thank you.”

He’s shaking a little bit when he finally pushes away from the wall, and his head is still turned up to the ceiling even though he knows now that he won’t really see anything. The seemingly omnipresent voice-thing is something from the future that he could probably do without.  Thankfully the elevator is terribly quick, and the doors slide open only moments later, and his feet take him quickly out and into the large open area.

The light here is similar to the light from the main room yesterday, which he attributes mostly to the windows that make up the entirety of the far wall. It seems a little bit superfluous and more than a little unsafe. He doesn’t have much more time to dwell on it though, as the moment he sets foot on what look to be large pieces of slate, he’s greeted loudly by a large blonde man that he doesn’t know.

“Hello friend Steven! I see you are indeed of smaller size. If this is the work of my brother I shall see to it that things are put to right.” The man booms, all big smiles and towering over Steve not in inches, but in feet.

“I-hello? I-don’t-”

A gentle hand lands on his shoulder, and he turns slightly to see a very tired looking Bruce smiling weakly at him.

“This is Thor.” He says, gesturing to the bulky man. “He’s...a friend from...out of town.”

Steve nods slowly, and and shuffles along behind Bruce as the man makes a b-line for the fridge. He tries to peek inside unobtrusively, but still ends up not being able to actually see anything.  Luckily, in his stretching attempts to see in the fridge he spots a nearly empty bag of bagels sitting on the counter. He knows bagels. Bagels are good. He snags one and pads over to the small countertop at the edge of the kitchen, putting him at a good vantage point of both the small living area and the whole of the kitchen.

He’s caught between the jerk reaction of retreating into himself, and becoming something of a ghost, and demanding some more answers about where he is and how he knows these people. He has a good feeling that they mean well, so he’ll give them the benefit of the doubt and allow them some trust, but there’s also a lot of dodging and evading going on. To some extent he can logically understand. He may not know the scope of exactly what’s happening, but he’s in no way stupid or ignorant.

Bruce pushes himself up on the seat next to Steve, a large sandwich on his plate, and a small...rectangle in his hand. When he sets it down on the counter in front of him it lights up, not unlike the television. Steve lets out a little gasp before he registers his reaction, and Bruce’s eyes snap over.

“Oh.” Bruce pushes the small...thing towards him just enough so that he can see the surface. “This is a Starkpad. It’s a little tablet that acts like a computer.”

Steve furrows his eyebrows.

“What year is it for you again? You said 1940-?”

“1941.”

“Right...Well, I guess it’s like having a whole library but just at your fingertips. That’s probably the best way to describe it. I’m using it to help get you home.”

He nodded slowly though he couldn’t really wrap his head around what that meant. After all, even the small library near his old high school had thousands of books. He couldn’t imagine all of those pages, and all of those words in just one place. 

He ripped off a small piece of the bagel and popped it in his mouth.

“Where is Tony?”

Bruce finishes the rather large mouthful of sandwich, and makes a face.

“Still down in his lab.”

“Still? Did he not go to sleep last night?”

Bruce shakes his head. “No. When he gets like this Tony can end up spending anywhere from 12-78 hours down there.”

Steve blanches, shaking his head slightly and taking another bite of his slowly disappearing bagel. “Do you- should I take him something to eat?”

Bruce just looks at him for a second, face predominantly blank.

“Okay, should I not do that? Did I say something wrong?”

The man shakes his head, blinking rapidly as though pulling himself out of something like sleep.

“No, no...You can bring him some food. Probably the only way he’ll eat, just make sure that you bring coffee too. If nothing else it should help you convince him to let you in.”

Steve slowly nods, taking a couple of moments to try and read the man beside him before pushing himself off of his seat and venturing back over to the fridge. He’s not exactly sure if tastes now have changed from how they were in the 40’s, but he figures that he can make something up that’s at least a majority edible. He also thanks the Lord that there’s still some coffee left over in the pot that Bruce points out, glad to not have to ask someone to do it for him, or have to figure out the thing himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Steve suffers from scoliosis. This will be more subtle through the story since I don't think that any of the Avengers would comment on a visible curve to his back. (This was listed in his ailments but it wasn't explained so here goes) Symptoms of Scoliosis include: Changes with walking, reduced range of motion, trouble breathing, cardiovascular problems, pain, and lowered self esteem. It is most evident by the s-shaped curve of the spine.
> 
> 2)The first computer wasn't invented until 1943, and wasn't completed until 1946. (It took up 1,800 sq feet or 548.64 meters, and weighed around 50 tons)
> 
> ...
> 
> I'm glad that there's been so much interest in this story. Thank you for all of the feedback so far, and please continue even if it's just a quick hello!
> 
> -Castor


	3. Chapter 3

Steve can’t help thanking JARVIS when the AI takes over the elevator without even asking, letting him know exactly where Tony is on the floor, and where the entrance panel for the lab was. He wonders if it’s odd to thank an artificial intelligence, and then decides resolutely that he doesn't care, and does it anyway. Steve is rather precariously balancing a sandwich on a plate, a small bag of chips, and a rather large cup of coffee while staring blankly at the panel that JARVIS had pointed out.

“Mr. Rogers, would you like me to let Sir know that you’re requesting entrance?”

He breathes out a sigh of relief, and tilts his head up gratefully to the ceiling, “Please, thank you, Jarvis.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Rogers.”

Steve shifts restlessly, going from leaning all weight on one foot to the other and trying his best not to let any of the coffee slosh out and onto the floor. He jumps just slightly when the door in front of him makes a loud beeping noise, and pops out just slightly. He looks up at the ceiling, waiting for some sort of que, and when none comes he just pulls at it slightly until he can slip through.

He can feel his eyes twitch at the pure intensity of the sound that assaults him as the door swings closed again. It’s some kind of heavy and busy music, he can make out a voice, but most of it just sounds like...dying animals? 

“Hello?” He calls out, pitching his voice to, hopefully, carry over the music.

“Music, J.”

The sound turns off instantly, leaving a faint ringing sound in his left ear and giving him a bit of vertigo. He takes a step forward, and hinds himself wobbling a bit, black dots dancing through his vision. He closes his eyes for a moment, opens them again, and breathes out when Tony appears close enough that he can make out more than just the vague blurs in the far background.

“What can I do for you, mini munch?”

His brows furrow at the nickname, but he holds out the food as an offering.

Tony doesn’t move for a few seconds, giving Steve a chance to focus in more. His hearing comes back, and his vision clears a bit more, allowing his normal level of detail to seep back in. Tony is wearing a very tight tank top, showing off his muscles, and a peculiar bright blue circle on his chest. He’s wearing low hanging sweats, and his arms are covered in dark streaks, matching the smear on his cheek and forehead. His hair is nicely tousled, and his eyes are nice and large, set off by the sporadic dark splotches and the slight redness at the tops of his cheeks. Something in Steve twists strangely, and he itches to draw the man.

“Did Clint put you up to this?”

Steve sets down the food and coffee on the nearest surface, a desk that’s more haphazard metal parts and tools than actual desk at this point.

“Um, no?” He takes in the incredulous look on the others face and rolls his eyes. “Taxi up and chow down. You can’t just survive on-” Looking around all he sees are bottles of alcohol and various substances that he assumes are made for use on machinery and have no place being as close to the small kitchen-looking area off to the side, “Giggle water and motor oil.”

Tony’s eyes narrow at him. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”

“T.S.” He responds blandly. “Everyone needs breaks, and you haven’t had one. Plus, you’re doing this for me, I think that gives me the option to tell you that you can stop for a few minutes to eat.”

Steve pushes his shoulders back and tries to make himself seem larger, more commanding. The stance loses a bit of its presence since he has to tilt his head back very slightly, considering that the other man has about a half a foot on him at the very least. However, he keeps himself firm, hardening his stare as they stand in a stalemate.

After a couple of minutes in tense silence, Tony’s shoulders relax slightly, as though he had been waiting for Steve to break and say, “Oh, I was just making fun. I actually don’t care about your wellbeing, and neither do any of your friends,” and laugh in his face. The man shuffles forward a few steps and picks back up the almost overbearing confidence that he seems to permanently wear around him. Tony scoops up the mug and inhales strongly.

“You brought me coffee?” Tony takes a large gulp and moans so obscenely that Steve feels like perhaps he should look away. “Oh, I could kiss you right now!”

He feels a small breathy laugh pass through his lips, and he rolls his eyes as Tony drops himself into the small black chair behind the desk. He can feel a little bit of heat rise to the tops of his cheeks as the other man tucks into his food, those obscene noises picking back up.

“You don’t have to stay down here you know.” Tony says, mouth full and words muffled, but Steve had plenty of practice understanding food blocked speech, after all he lived with a man who was almost constantly chewing on something when he had the change for it.

Steve hums, and pushes his weight against the desk before deciding that he could sit atop it without the top bending or legs giving out. “Are you asking me to leave?”

“Would it matter?”

“Not really, no.”

“Then no.”

His mouth quirked up slightly and he pushed around a couple of the metal scraps, flipping them and running his fingers around the edges.

“What are you working on?” He asks friendlily, kicking his legs absently.

Tony quirks an eyebrow at him and practically inhales the rest of the sandwich half in his hands. Not hungry his ass.

“A couple of different things. General suit upgrades and repairs.” He makes a lazy wave over to the corner of the room where Steve’s eyes lit upon what looks like a humanoid robot figure. Something only a crazy person would make as an art piece, and would have to be absolutely nutso to even insinuate it might work- but this was the future, and there was a voice coming from the ceiling, so Steve does his best to shake it off and take it in stride, or at least not think about it more than he had to. “A few things for the company-”

“Company?”

“Yeah, Stark Industries.”

“Wait.” Steve shakes his head. “ _ The  _ Stark Industries? The weapon and and military defense company?”

Tony hums, a somewhat bitter look taking over his face. “Formerly yes. Now focused on clean green energy machines,” He throws back with what is obviously a practiced smile.

Steve blinks a couple of times.

“That doesn’t really mean anything to you does it?”

He shakes his head minutely, letting his eyes drop for a moment as a small wave of irrational shame hits him. He shouldn’t know these things, and therefore, shouldn’t feel bad or inadequate for not being able to understand something that to one of these individuals may be common knowledge.

Tony kicks his foot lightly and his eyes snap back up to meet rich chocolate.

“You wanna see something cool?”

He wonders for a moment if Tony is really good at reading people, or if the Steve that he was used to reacted the same way as he did and Tony had him figured out like Bucky did, but nods anyway. Tony grins widely, all teeth and eyes shining, and Steve’s hands once again itch for a pencil. It’s a little strange, he’s never wanted to draw someone so much before, and he’s never been so interested in another man.

The man pops up to his feet, shoving the rest of his sandwich in his mouth and rips open the bag of chips as he starts moving one of hands around crazily. Steve can’t really help the amused expression that comes to his face, and gratefully accepts a couple of chips when Tony tilts the bag towards him with and expectant expression. While distracted by the chips the other has somehow shifted the light in the room to a pale blue glow, and he stumbles forward into Tony’s side when vibrant rectangles of light appear out of nowhere in a circle around them.

“Woah there! It’s alright, nothing’s going to hurt you here.” Tony says softly, hands resting lightly on his shoulders and making his face burn in embarrassment, but for some reason he can’t bring himself to shake those grounding hands off, and Tony doesn’t seem inclined to let him go of his own accord. “J. Run program Altair Alnair - 40208.”

Suddenly the rectangles that have circulating images and words disappear, and light washes over the room in a beautiful wave, drifting around them ethereally as stars begin to appear. Steve doesn’t know much about space. The most that he gets is really looking up at the night sky from the roof of his apartment building, but that’s nothing compared to this. It’s absolutely breathtaking.

“Wow.” He breathes out.

Tony’s hands squeeze his shoulders, and something hits the top of his head very gently, letting him know that Tony’s chin is propped on top of him. Normally he’d push away and fuss about it. Bucky had done similar things enough just to annoy him, but he doesn’t really care, not when he’s surrounded by this. 

“Tony...This is…”

“I know.” Tony says softly. “It’s beautiful isn’t it?”

“Yes.  Thank you for sharing it with me.”

Tony hums, and his hands and chin disappear from Steve’s person. He wonders if Tony is just a tactile person, or if his growing suspicion that Tony and “their Steve” were close -though just how close he was still figuring out.

When Tony reappears in his field of vision his hand is extended outwards, and when he touches a star it lights up beneath his fingertip and becomes more prominent.

“You’re a Cancer right?”

He tilts his head inquisitively. “Yes, why?”

Tony cups the star in his hands, and brings it over to Steve, handing it to him carefully as the stars around them shift to maintain their alignment.

“This is Asellus Australis, the centre of the Crab constellation.” His fingers draw out from the star in Steve’s hands, leaving behind glowing lines until they form a shape that resembles an upside down y. “And these are the three ends, Acubens, Altarf, and Iota Cancri.”

He runs his finger long the shining lines, then looks up to Tony’s eyes.

“And yours?”

Brown eyes look confused for just a moment before quickly recovering.

“I’m a Gemini.” He twists slightly and pulls down another star, drawing seemingly intuitive lines, and making an odd vase-like shape.

Blue eyes shine, and as he looks from the Gemini constellation to the Cancer constellation to Tony’s eyes, he becomes enthralled by their reflections swallowed up in shining pools of dark brown. He tries to shake himself. It’s like there’s something in him that’s drawing him towards Tony. He’s never dealt with magic before, and quite frankly, doesn't really believe that it exists. Science, yes, magic...unlikely. But if it was magic...could there be a leftover residue of the Steve from here in him, influencing these feelings? Of course Tony is an attractive man, you’d have to be blind not to see that. He also seemed very kind and full of character, but Steve doesn’t, has never fallen for someone so easily, man or no.

He blinks a couple of times, squeezing his eyes shut tightly making inverse images of the star shapes behind his eyelids.

“Thank you,” He pushes out, thankful that his voice is steady, “For showing me this.”

The moment breaks and Tony steps back waving him off before making some complicated motion, causing the replica universe to miniaturize into his hands.

“Don’t mention it. J, close program and turn up lights to 60%.”

Steve stands awkwardly for a few moments, watching as Tony tilts the earlier abandoned chip bag upwards, emptying it into his mouth before diving into the seemingly unrelated pieces of metal on the table. He takes a few breaths, waiting to see if anything else will happen before taking it as a dismissal.

Once he gets to the door he pauses, turning back slightly.

“I’ll see you at dinner?”

Tony looks up, pins him with his gaze, then lets the corner of his mouth twitch up.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, good…”

The door automatically locks behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taxi up - come here (more commonly used by soldiers)
> 
> Giggle water - not just something from Harry Potter. In the 1920's - 1940's this was used to refer to alcohol.
> 
> T.S. - Tough Shit (alternatively a a synonym or acronym for Tony Stark)
> 
> Program Altair Alnair - 25866 is a fun little star related easter egg that I put in because I'm a horrible nerd and love space. Both Altair and Alnair are stars, and their names both have meaning. Altair means "flying one," and Alnair means "the bright" (there are both in relation to Tony himself because I can't help myself). The number, 40208 is in relation to the distance of the second closest star to the Earth, - the first being the sun - Proxima Centauri, which is roughly 40,208,000,000,000 km away.
> 
> https://www.astrology.com/love/compatibility/gemini-cancer.html  
> -just for fun this is a little thing on what a Cancer/Gemini relationship might be like.
> 
> https://www.insightfulpsychics.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/gemini-and-cancer-sex.jpg  
> -asagfdhfhjghjghkjhjkhlk
> 
> _________  
> I hope everyone's enjoying this so far, I've been getting some great feedback so please don't hesitate to leave me a note, it's always appreciated.  
> If I've left any terminology undefined, or you're unsure of something feel free to ask me.
> 
> -Castor


	4. Chapter 4

Steve is really glad that the Steve from here still seems to sketch as he sits with his legs tucked up underneath him, pencil to paper, in the gym while Clint and Natasha spar. He’s always loved drawing people, sitting in parks, on benches, or even on the roof and sketching out the people hanging about. Getting to draw such intensive action moves is fascinating, and when he asks Natasha to hold a pose she grins at him and balances gracefully. Clint tells him that she used to be a ballerina. He doesn’t doubt it.

Their witty banter is oddly comforting, and familiar. He finishes up a figure study of Natasha doing various kicks, and closes up the sketchbook before stretching out. He can’t exactly say that he feels comfortable, because he’s stuck now with a low level feeling of unsettled anxiety that he won’t get home and will have to find some way to readjust his life to this new sort of reality. Even the thought of that makes his head begin to hurt and his stomach roil. That being said, aside from the to be expected level of discordance, everyone here had been nothing but kind and accommodating.

He rubs at his eyes and takes a few large breaths before getting to his feet, holding himself carefully still as the world spins dangerously and black spots dance across his vision.

“You okay, man?”

He blinks a couple of times and heaves out a long sigh. Clint is standing directly in front of him, head tilted.

“Yeah, I’m alright.”

Clint’s eyes narrow, and he shoots a look at Natasha whose face is carefully blank.

“What?”

“I asked you that like, five times before you answered.”

Steve shifts and runs a hand through his hair. This isn’t unusual.

“Were you on my right side?”

There’s a short pause, like the man’s taking the time to process what that question might mean. Natasha had said that the two of them were spies, and after spending a short amount of time with them Steve has to wonder just how many spies are out there if they’re all so...normal.

“Ummmm...yeah?”

“That’s why,” He starts, the words feeling a bit stale and practiced as he’s had to say many different iterations of this same thing since he was a child, “I’m nearly deaf on that side. I can get general noises, and more so if they’re of a lower pitch, but it’s mostly just extremely muffled.”

“Holy shit!” Clint yells, grabbing his shoulder sightly. “We’re twins!”

“I-excuse me...what?” Steve tries to look to Natasha for answers, and she shakes her head in what he recognizes as something like fond exasperation.

“Clint’s deaf. He wears hearing aids.” She clarifies. 

“Oh.” His brows furrow slightly.

Clint leans back out of his space and fiddles with the spot on his head ups up and to the front of his ear, turning just a bit to point out a darkened circle there that’s connected by a wire down behind his ear that Steve has to follow his finger to in order to even pick up the small shape as it blurs into his hair.

“Do you have hearing aids in the 40’s?” Clint asks as he smooths his hair back down around the spot.

“Yes, kind of. Not like those.” He scrunches up his nose for a moment, trying to think about the last time that he had actually seen someone with a hearing aid. “Most of them are...less than ideal I guess. They’re pretty intrusive and expensive, and you don’t really want to be seen with one unless you fancy getting hauled off to an alley and being beat down.”

“What, why would they do that?” It’s obvious that what he’s said seems kind of outrageous to the two of them as they start to look at him oddly, though Natasha stays cooly quiet.

Steve feels that rift opening up like it has almost every time he opens his mouth here to say more than 5 words at a time, so instead of attempting to justify it he shrugs his shoulders up to his ears and gives his best helpless smile.

“Huh...well, I’ve got an over the ear back up for when these get destroyed if you wanna try one. They aren’t perfect but they do as a quick fix.”

“I…” He shifted, hands reaching out for the sketchbook automatically as something to hold onto, he slides his pencil clip onto the rings and holds the book to his chest. Does he want to try them out? He’s never really even gotten a chance to try the ones that they have in his time, let alone anything from a place that has talking ceilings and robot men. The thing is, if he gets the chance to improve his hearing, how will he feel when he has to go back? There’s no way that he could take the aid with him, even if they insisted he take it he couldn’t take the risk of it changing something. He twists the rings of the sketchbook and gives Clint a small smile. “No, I don’t think so. I’ve dealt with it this far, so what’s a few more years? Thank you though.”

Steve pushes up to his feet, tilting back in a small stretch for his aching back.

“I’m going to go put this back up in the room and relax a bit before dinner.”

He tries not to linger too much on the odd looks that they’re giving him, and resolutely turns and makes his way to the elevator. He doesn’t even have to say anything for Jarvis to begin moving upwards, and he breathes out a quick thank you that he hopes comes through. The day has passed by fairly quickly ever since he had visited Tony down in the lab, and dinner is likely no more than an hour away at most. 

There’s an odd sort of floaty quality about the way that he feels as he drops the sketchbook on top of the dresser, and flops back onto the bed. He can’t stop thinking about Tony, rich brown staring back at him every time he closes his eyes. Steve blows out a heavy breath, and stares up at the blank white of the ceiling, and in an attempt to distract his stagnant thought he begins to work out whatever math he can to try and figure out when he is. Maybe it’s a bad idea, but his mind’s already begun to spin in possibilities.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested at all in the development of hearing aids : https://www.healthyhearing.com/report/47717-Digital-hearing-aid-history
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for all of the wonderful comments so far. I'm glad that people seem to be enjoying this story as much as I'm enjoying coming up with it. It's really encouraging to get comments, and always helps me to get writing on the next chapter. Always feel free to leave criticisms and possible edits as well if you find them.
> 
> -Castor


	5. Chapter 5

Jarvis lets him know when the others have begun to gather together for dinner, and he takes a moment to stretch out and fix himself up enough to be considered more presentable than askew. At some point he had grabbed a small notepad from where he had found the sketchbook, scrawling out numbers and dates as he tried to make sense of things. Of course, numbers have never really been his forte, but he’s still left a little flabbergasted by the possibilities. There’s a range of dates considering the fact that he’s not entirely sure just how old he is normally in this time, but based on the general gist of ages of the others he thinks that he’s probably gotten within a good range of years.

He puts the written pages back on the top of the dresser and makes his way down the hall towards the elevator.

“To the common area Mr. Rogers?” Jarvis asks.

“Please, thank you Jarvis.” 

He smiles slightly up towards the ceiling, and hopes that somehow Jarvis can see and accept his thanks. He doubts that he’ll stop feeling that way considering the fact that even with the visible people here helping him, Jarvis has still helped him the most, often with little or no prompting.

When he steps out towards the kitchen, where he had gotten breakfast before, everyone that he’s met is either moving about in the kitchen area or sitting at the made up dining room table. It’s an odd kind of traditional set up that gives him a pause, his brain doing flips as it continues to try and reconcile where he is now to where he was just a day ago.

“Hey, Steve.” It’s Bruce that welcomes him, giving him a shy seeming smile. Though, Steve, even with his small level of personal knowledge on these people, thinks that perhaps Bruce just always comes off that way, in a perpetual state of calm and quiet being.

He raises a hand, waving a bit awkwardly as he shifts on his feet. He thinks that perhaps he ought to just sit, but his mind’s still whirling a good bit outside of focus range. Tony hasn’t even looked up from what Steve assumes to be a cup of coffee, though it looks more like a bowl with a handle than an actual mug.

“Are we in the 1960’s?” He bursts out, and that’s what happens when Steve’s mind is preoccupied. 

All eyes turn on him, most just blinking blankly, but Tony, after only a few seconds doubles over in laughter.

“Honey, if this we’re the 60’s my Starkpad here would be the size of this entire building.” Tony says in between huffing breaths, tapping on the pad under his fingertips.

Steve furrows his eyebrows, and shifts on his feet again, this time starting to play with the hem of his shirt. He feels impossibly small between the clothes, the building, the people he hardly knows, and becoming more and more unsure in his unintentional ignorance. 

“I don’t understand.” He walks forward enough that he can steady himself with hands on the kitchen island, but also to hide any further fidgeting. “It can’t be more than the late 70’s...I doubt that you’d all be hanging around me if I were older than 50…”

Tony’s mouth clicks shut, and he’s met with varying faces, though they all seem to edge towards grimaces.

He feels a bit of frustration bubbling up in his chest. He’s used to discomfort, but maybe not this much pressured embarrassment. His blind this view of his sudden predicament has begun to get to him as of his alone time. 

“I’m feeling like a real yuck, here. I don’t know the protocol for this sort of thing, and it’s not that you’re being anything but kind to me, but I know that there’s “a Steve” here, which you seem to think is me. I don’t get that, I really don’t. I’m not a shem, but I feel like I ought to know what’s going on if I’m stuck here. You can’t really expect me to live here in the dark on that, can you?”

Clint coughs loudly, shifting so much in his chair that it squeaks. “Well, this escalated quickly, didn’t it?”

Clint makes an aborted groaning noise when Natasha’s elbow catches him in the ribs. 

Steve looks over at Bruce, but when the man refuses to meet his eyes he steps closer to Tony, and tries to catch his rapidly moving eyes. “Tony…”

The man makes a small choking noise, and Steve feels a little bit bad because he’s somehow obviously a weak spot for Tony. Based on the looks on the other’s faces, it seems like they know this as well. 

“Steve…” Tony clears his throat shortly, “I don’t think that we should really open that can of worms, okay? It’s not necessarily that we don’t want to tell you, but...telling includes a rather lengthy explanation which has the capability to completely and inexorably alter the future.”

The man flashes him a tense smile. All eyes in the room are on him, like he’s on a timer. No, Steve’s not really the type to completely flip his wig- save for a few choice situations. He shifts again before lifting his head up to stare heaven ward. It’s something that he’s taken to doing since his Ma passed, sending up a silent prayer her way for strength and patience. It’s only been a little over two days, there's no reason for him to urgently know, really. Of course, what he said holds true. The longer that he stays, the more that they’re going to have to consider telling him lest they deign to imprison him here for the duration his his stay.

He tilts his head back down and gives them all a small smile.

“Alright, just keep it in mind...telling me, aight?”

Tony tilts his head slightly to the side, and something in his eyes tells him that Tony isn’t buying that he’s giving up on this. He’s right in a way, Steve’s not giving it up, he’s just being reasonable and letting it air out.

“Soooooooo…” Clint drawls, eyes flicking around, “food?”

It’s Bruce who responds, further shattering the heavy atmosphere as he lets out a short laugh and steps back from the stove. “Yes. Everything’s, ready. Come on and get it.”

It’s like flipping a switch as everyone moves on from the conversation, and rushes the kitchen.

Tony throws looks at him the entire meal, but Steve just counters them with smiles and scowls when some of Tony’s food makes its way onto his plate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuck - idiot, dumb. A foolish person.
> 
> Shem - a jerk
> 
> Flip your wig - pop your top, blow a gasket, have kittens, flip your lid...aka. to lose control of yourself
> 
> _____________
> 
> I hope that everyone's still enjoying the story as much as I am. This is probably pretty self indulgent, but then again, most of my fics are considering the fact that I tend to write what I want to read. Anywho, please feel free to leave comments and criticisms as they not only make my day, but help keep me motivated.
> 
> -Castor


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter came out pretty dense?  
> This is mostly because there's no dialogue, like...at all...  
> However, it was also a kind of fun little exploration, so I hope you all like Steve only pieces

Steve hardly sleeps that night. This is something that he’s not terribly unfamiliar with. Since he generally has a hard time breathing, and his back protests to certain positions, he’s constantly waking up to readjust and pull in deep breaths. However, now when he wakes up from pain he stares listlessly at the ceiling, his mind wandering back to dates and times, and just what could have happened that it was so important that just letting him hear about it could possibly change the future. He knows that it’s no use to dwell on something that he can’t change, and really ought to push for, so he tries to change the direction of his thoughts.

This also turns out to be somewhat unproductive considering the fact that next thing that comes to his mind is Tony. It’s a bit uncomfortable, a niggling sense of something more lingering under a surface that’s only his in a removed sense. He’s never really thought so much about another man besides, say, Bucky. Of course, he also lives with the guy, and has been friends with him since they were kids. Tony, he’s technically only know for about three days, and yet rich brown eyes, tan skin, and messy curled hair are what he sees whenever he stops focusing on the blank expanse of ceiling.

There’s something there, behind that. If he can’t know how old “he” is here, what time it really is, then perhaps he can pursue more this seemingly unwarranted connection. Of course, he’s not afraid of accidentally making mountains out of molehills, considering the way that Tony seems to act around him. If the size of the clothes here are anything to go by though, it may be what comes to some as a natural response to his small stature- it had always made Bucky at least 4 times more protective, especially when he was sick.

Already having resolved to wait the time thing out, not interfere with it for the time being, he sets about exploring his temporary room more in depth but also cautiously. To be fair, there’s really not a whole lot to look at, which is a bit depressing. He’d never had much, but what he did have he tended to hoard and display until he ran out of viable room. It wasn’t the best habit, and often ended with him having a floor that’s hardly even visible, but it gave the otherwise cold and prison-like room in their apartment some personal and lively touches. This is terribly stark in comparison, almost as though he’d given up on trying to be at home, or didn’t expect to be around very long. Again, a bit more dark and depressing than he really wanted to think about.

After a few minutes he turned over most of the drawers, and makes his way over to the little desk. It’s a beautiful wooden roll-top. He’s never really seen a desk like it outside of shops as they tended to reach financial highs that he’d never even entertained. He runs his hand reverently over the top, smiling to himself as he begins to poke around. At first it’s not a very fruitful search, turning up packs of expensive pencils, charcoals, and pastels that he had only dreamed of. Steve turns different pieces of art supplies over in his hands, eyes alight as he finds a plethora of graphites and inks, watercolours and oils, all of the things that he had dreamed of before the war. In pulling out the lower drawers he sees notebooks and loose papers, but nothing that he looks too far into for fear that he might find something that would divulge too much information about his own future. It’s when he opens the large bottom drawer on the right side that he finds what he was looking for.

There’s an array of different sketchbooks, from pocket sized, to small, to medium, to regular, to large, and even larger tucked under the small chair. He pulls out as many as he can, spreading them out over the floor from smallest to largest. He always put his thoughts, feelings, and heart into his sketches. If he was going to get any insight into “this Steve’s” mind, it would be through his sketchbooks. He takes a moment to just admire the pure amount of..stuff in front of him.

He starts small and flicks through, stopping on some pages longer than others. The pictures are anything from rough figure studies, to landscapes, still life's, and facial studies. The smaller two sizes have one to two sketches max per page, and are mostly loose studies of human bodies based on what he assumes is people watching, and lots of small landscapes. At first he doesn’t really recognize anything, but at odds and ends he fins sketches that are clearly based on the 30’s and 40’s, including sketches of Bucky and other people that visually fit the time period that he can’t place. It’s when he gets to the regular and medium sizes that sketches of the people he’s met here start appearing.

The subjects seem to switch fairly regularly, some obviously in action and life studies, and some more comic-esk, free handed pieces. They’re all fairly good, though he’s always been his own worst critic, these have improved from his current skill set. He gets a bit confused when he takes stock of all of the people showing up, only to find that Tony hasn’t been in any of them. He speed flips through the next 3, but they’re no different. Of course that means that something is up. If he felt no particular way than Tony may have appeared normally with the others, he certainly wouldn’t have been avoided. 

He blinks a couple of times when he opens up one of the larger sketchbooks. It’s brightly coloured red and gold, a strange choice as he tended to prefer less saturated and more inconspicuous colours. He gives the sketchbook a precursory scan, and smirks to himself. It’s full of Tony, and only Tony. There’s sketches of him in a multitude of different poses and in various states or dress and...undress, as well as his face showing through something that looks like the strange robot-statue that he had seen in Tony’s lab. When he happens upon the more risque of the sketches he finds himself blushing and would like to say that he flipped quickly past them, but...well…

So, there is most definitely some interest in Tony going on here, and not just familial or platonic caring. He gives a sideways look to the other red and gold sketchbooks before pulling them over and perusing them- and of course they are also all comprised completely of Tony. Now, before he got to a few sketches in particular he could have perhaps written it off as a model figure obsession- though given the particular situation he wouldn’t have dismissed it. They weren’t the more blue sketches, though he’d never entertained the thought that he might one day be drawing those sorts of photos, but they were the softer sketches.

There are some shots mixed in where love is palpable through the graphite. It’s the small things. A barely there sketched into a profile, a tired and sleep ruffled full body, a lax sleeping face, a bright beaming smile complete with tired eyes and messy hair and bruises. It’s almost impossible from there to deny that this Steve is anything but hopelessly in love with Tony. 

The sun is already high in the sky by the time that he’s reorganized all of the sketchbooks and placed them back where they had been originally. He feels like perhaps he should feel weird, embarrassed, or uncomfortable, but he only really feels light and warm. He’s never been overtly sexual, being more prone to enjoy people more in an artists appreciation- therefore, he’d not particularly ever given much thought to his own sexual or romantic interests, though he probably assumed himself to be interested only in females as is acceptable. That being said, he doesn’t really feel one way or another about finding out that “this Steve” romantically and obviously sexually interested in Tony.

He’s slightly exhausted as he dresses in the smallest clothes that he can find, but counts it as a positive loss. Clearing up at least a portion if this whole whacked up situation. Now he had to figure out where to go with this, whether to keep it as a secret for himself, of confront Tony about it…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blue - generally referring to something NSFW or pornographic
> 
> Whacked up - Wacky meant/means crazy, where whacked up more means messed up or "crazied up"
> 
> \----
> 
> Here's a Steve only heavy chapter where the boy gets to learn a little bit about his future self through art.  
> Please feel free to leave comments and criticisms, they always help give me motivation!
> 
> -Castor


	7. Chapter 7

Tony doesn’t show up at breakfast, he’s been informed, of course, that Tony doesn’t often make it to meals aside from group dinners. When he asks he gets vague guesses about the man being in the lab, which Bruce confirms softly around lunchtime. That being said, he spends the whole first half of the day in something of a disgruntled haze, which was probably at least the smallest bit annoying, though everyone had the good graces not to comment on it. That, or the more likely option that they were used to it.

Of course, he works to take it all in stride, besides, the longer that Tony says holed up in his lab, the more reason Steve has to go down and bring him something to eat. It would be the perfect way to get Tony alone in order to confront him about their...connection. It might not be the best idea, but he’s unable to think about anything else, and even if he was it would likely fall to things reguarding when, how, and where exactly he was. Better to stick with confronting the possible relationship here. 

Steve wonders if they’ve ever talked about it, noticed anything about each other. To him, it seemed fairly clear that Tony had something for him, but he was also at least slightly removed from the situation. Steve knows himself, and he’s pretty oblivious in the romance section, he’s pretty emotionally stunted, and incredibly stubborn- therefore, it’s not unlikely that “this Steve”, despite having multiple sketchbooks filled with just Tony, has been keeping everything to himself and under wraps. He isn’t necessarily one to meddle, but technically this seemed to be some form of his own life, so he should have some control. If he somehow brings together two people that are dancing around one another, causing them both to be happy, then no harm no foul. 

That being said, as Steve pads into the kitchen and begins to pull out some of last night's leftovers, he has no clue exactly how he’s going to bring up the “elephant in the room.” He can’t very well just walk into Tony’s lab, drop off the food and ask, “Hey sugar, are you rationed?” Never mind the fact that it seems like any jargon he’s used seems to fly over the heads of the people here.

He puts together a heavy plate, assuming that Tony is unlikely to have eaten anything substantial. There’s a brief thought that he should find a way to warm it up, but the idea of putting it on the stove doesn’t seem quite right. He pauses, shifting back and forth.

“Mister Rogers, is there something I can help you with?” J.A.R.V.I.S. asks, and Steve still jumps upon hearing his voice.

“I- yes, actually. Is there a way that I can heat up this food without using the stove?”

“There is a device off to your left called a microwave. You can open the door and enter in 1:30 and press the large button that says start. It will heat up the food without the use of the stove or oven.”

_ A microwave. _ He mouths to himself as he follows the instructions, only shifting slightly when there’s a high pitched electronic beep every time he presses a button. The machine, which looks mostly like a plastic box with a door, makes a slightly unnatural humming noise. It’s a bit discomforting and almost uncanny, more so than anything else that he’s experienced so far- which might seem odd considering what he has seen, but it’s a mixture of the noise, the unassuming visuals that compare to things from home while being so far apart. The microwave goes off with an extended triple tone, and he moves quickly to remove the plate.

“Thank you, Jarvis.” Steve thinks that the  _ again  _ says itself.

“My pleasure, mister Rogers.” 

After that it’s fairly easy to pull everything out and get in the elevator down to Tony’s lab. Jarvis graciously opens up the glass doors for him, and turns down the deafening music enough that Tony will be able to hear him when he calls out.

“Tony?”

At first there’s nothing, and the lab looks completely empty despite evidence to the contrary. He staggers to a stop in the middle of the floor, and shifts around the hot plate to keep it from burning his hands, shifting his feet as his back begins to twinge. He turns in a full circle, but there’s still no sign of Tony. he drops off the food on in the same place on the desk that he had the first time he came down, and ventured further into the lab, out towards the back where it seemed to open up into something of a warehouse. 

He cups his hands around his mouth this time to make sure that his voice carries further. “Tony?”

“Wha-” there’s a loud banging noise and a few muffled curses before Tony’s body appears from underneath a car. “Oh...Hey, Steve…”

Steve tried to smile reassuringly to put Tony more at ease. For someone who seemed so confident and out there, he had a certain way of closing of very quickly when he was uncomfortable.

“I brought you something to eat,” he says, gesturing over towards the main desk area.

“I uh, thanks.” Tony moves from his awkward knock kneed sitting up to standing, having to tilt his head down slightly to look into Steve’s eyes- although his own dart around in avoidance.

“I also want to talk to you about something.” He admits. There’s really no good time to go into it, and besides, Tony’s already uncomfortable and doesn’t look as though he’ll relax from his tensed up state until Steve leaves the lab area. After all, Steve’s never claimed to be good at comforting people. He thinks that maybe he’s made a mistake when Tony’s whole body tenses noticeably, and he stiffly shuffles back to the main room.

“Yeah?” Tony’s voice sounds like it’s shifted up an octave, and he’s turned so that he’s almost completely blocked off from Steve. He’s moving in short but quick movements, and Steve’s familiar with the actions of doing absolutely nothing at all whilst making it look as though you’re actually busy.

“Nothing bad.” he moves so that he can lean back against Tony’s desk, pushing himself up to sit on the surface as Tony falls back into his chair. “Just...important.”

In the few seconds that Steve couldn’t see his face it looks as though Tony went from being guarded and uncomfortable to resigned and tired. He’s not really that surprised, but it does leave a sad sort of bitter feeling in his chest.

“Alright, we’ll shoot.”

Steve wrings his hands and braces himself. He’s been thinking about this since his proper revelation, but that’s nothing compared to actually saying any of it out loud. After all he may be outing his counterpart, even if it is a good thing for “other Steve” in the long run.

“Is there something going on between you and Steve?” He blurts out, snapping his mouth shut so quickly that his teeth click together.

“I- what?”

Steve shakes his head, hair falling messily over his eyes as his mouth moves without consent from his brain. 

“Are you and your Steve together?”

Tony’s eyes unfocus for a second, and his mouth opens and closes a few times before any sound actually comes out.

“I-No!” The other man takes in a choppy breath. “No. We’re not-it’s not like that-we aren’t-we’re friends-”

“Tony, it’s okay, I’m in art school.” He breaks in, letting his mouth tilt up slightly at the corner.

Tony lets out a shuddering cough. “Still, it’s not...we’re not “together”.”

Steve kicks his legs back and forth a few times, and tilts his head to one side, and then to the other, just watching the man in front of him as he slowly seems to curl more and more in on himself. His eyebrows pinch together.

“But, if you had the chance to...would you?”

“If I-...What?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “If you had the chance to be with him.  If your feelings were reciprocated. Would you want to?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey sugar, are you rationed? - This is a way of asking is someone is going steady with someone else, as in, they've been dating someone seriously.
> 
> The countertop microwave oven was first introduced in 1967 by the Amana Corporation, which was acquired in 1965 by Raytheon. However, they were not highly popularized until the 70's.
> 
> \--------
> 
> Sorry this is coming out so late, I was moving and then classes started up...and well, priorities. Hopefully I'll be able to pick back up on a good, if not slightly erratic, schedule.   
> Thanks so much to everyone who's following this story and thank you for the wonderful comments and kudos.  
> \- Castor


	8. Chapter 8

Tony ran a hand through his hair, leaving it falling in messy curls around his forehead. 

“This feels like a trap,” He starts, and Steve must make a sour face because he amends, “Even though I know it’s probably not.”

Tony heaves out a long sigh and looks like he’s going to rub the same hand over his face, only to stop just seconds before shmearing around something brown and goopy. 

“Okay, look. I appreciate the bluntness, mini me. Really wish big you would take a hint sometimes, but Steve doesn’t see me like that, and I’m not about to go stomping all over our fragile relationship because I can’t get him out of my head. I’ve dealt with it before, I’ll deal with it again. It’s better this way, trust me.” By the end the man has this sort of look on his face that makes Steve’s stomach drop. He knows that face. Has seen it on the streets, has seen it in the mirror. It’s the face of someone who hates himself, who thinks everyone else hates him, who thinks he doesn’t deserve to be loved.

Steve sets his shoulders back. “I think you’re wrong.”

“What?” Tony startles from where his eyes have drifted off to some far middle distance where his mind is no doubt replaying scenes that only reinforce his thoughts and demons.

“I think you’re wrong about a lot of things, but I can prove that you’re wrong about your Steve.” He continues. He’s barging on ahead, hard headed and strong willed as he took any argument. “I know myself, and I know that I can be pretty…”

“Dense?” Tony offers, and Steve gives him a hard look even though he agrees.

“Right. Despite that, there’s something that I do with my interests...the things that I hold close or things that are important to me, I sketch them, keep them in a special place.”

“Okay…” Tony drags out, his eyebrows raising up as though to touch his hairline. He’s leaning forward heavily, resting his head in his hand with his elbow propped up on the edge of his desk. He doesn’t look any more at ease than he was at the start of this conversation, but at least he looks interested rather than closed off now. “And?”

“There are multiple sketchbooks in his room that contain all of the people in this place aside from you-”

“Wonderful, is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Steve fixes him with a glare, and pulls in a sharp breath.

“I wasn’t finished. You weren’t in any of those because you have at least six others completely dedicated to you.” He states matter-of-factly and quickly enough to push it out before Tony can get any more words out of his already open mouth.

“I-wait, what?”

He sighs and shifts back and forth, light enough that the table doesn’t even creak.

“There’s different sizes and qualities. I didn’t even have to look at the others because there was a pattern in the colour scheme I recognized, from here…” Steve points off to the corner where the robot-thing stands along with multiple odds and ends scattered about in a way that must be purposeful, but that Steve can’t makes heads nor tails of. 

Tony turns slightly, just enough to see what teve’s pointing at before his eyes snap back to Steve himself.

“Red and gold?”

“Yes.”

“Steve keeps red and gold sketchbooks, filled with drawings of...me?”

He raises his eyebrows slightly before crossing his arms and barreling forward to hit the message home a bit harder.

“Filled with his mutual obsession, yes.”

“Holy fuck.”

Steve nods over exaggeratedly, feeling a bit like he’s walking into a brick wall that really needs to come down.

“Essentially,” He begins, leaning forward slightly as Tony blinks with wide open eyes, “You’re both fat-headed and thick skulled.”

Steve kicked his feet back and forth again, leaning forward enough to force their eyes to lock, careful not to sift forward too much as to overbalance and fall on his face.

“If I had the same thick skin that I do now I would be the one to make the first move. In fact I would have already, so if you want anything to happen, I think it’s probably up to you. You might be something of an abercrombie, but it doesn’t mean that you actually are one.” Tony’s mouth opens, his brows furrowing together slightly, but Steve lifts a hand to keep him quiet until he finishes. “He’s head over heels for you, and…”

His mouth tilts up slightly, and he can feel a faint heat rise to the tops of his cheeks.

“I don’t blame him. He’ll be more than happy if you were to approach him about it, if not a little shy. I’ve never really been the most popular when it comes to romantic advances, and in the face of them I know I can tend to flounder around, especially around a pip like you...but I’m-he’s real gone on you, and I don’t think he thinks he’s even got a chance.”

Tony looks riveted, his eyes are wide open and have this kind of shine to them that’s mesmerizing. At this point when Tony leans in the slightest their faces become close enough that Steve can feel plumes of hot breath cascading over his lips, and if his cheeks hadn’t been red before, they certainly were now. Not for the first time he wonders if Tony simply has no sense of personal space, or if his preoccupation and relationship with his Steve has led him to invade what before would have been an inappropriate overstepping of boundaries. If that was the case, Steve wonders just how dense this supposed version of himself had become to be so disillusioned to the others obvious interest. 

Tony’s lips curl up into a devastating smirk. “So, you’re saying that I should go for it. Just waltz in and Stevie won’t even know what hit him?”

He lifts an eyebrow at the nickname but nods nonetheless.

Tony hums lowly, but doesn’t move away, and Steve’s skin starts to get this hyper-aware tingling feeling. They’re still close, with Steve just under a half foot higher. The lab falls into silence, heavy and thick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fat-headed - stupid or foolish, an idiot
> 
> Abercrombie - know-it-all, someone who thinks that they know everything and know the best
> 
> pip - attractive person


	9. Chapter 9

Tony blinks quickly a couple of times, the shine in his eyes dropping down just a bit as he seems to realize just how close they are to one another. Eyelids droop over rich chocolate eyes until Tony is looking at him through his eyelashes, and Steve feels like he maybe, might be, on the edge of an asthma attack.

Out of everything that could have happened in his time since appearing in what he’s been told is the future, leaning forward off the edge of a table until the  _ man _ just inches away from him catches his shoulders, pulls him into his lap, and kisses him within an inch of his life. It’s also not exactly how he imagined his first kiss, but Steve’s always been one to roll with the punches.

Of course, it’s incredibly hard to roll more than three times consecutively, hence his beyond confused blinking as he finds himself sitting alone in the middle of his living room in Brooklyn, 1941. Steve sprawls back harder than he should, smacking his head against the wood floor. There’s a residual feeling of nausea in the pit of his stomach, and the unheated air of the apartment is at least a little bit soothing.

“Stevie?”

Steve almost gives himself whiplash sitting up, head whipping towards the door as Bucky’s head appears.

“You okay, shrimp? Sounded like you real deal crashed just now.”

He lets out a breathy laugh, the slight disappointment of finding himself here and now bleeding away with the teasing smile on Bucky’s face.

“Yeah, Buck. I’m okay. Just had a bit of a tumble.”

Bucky nods and steps fully into the room, jauntily walking to where Steve is still semi-spread out on the floor. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets and rocks forward and back on his heels a couple of times as he takes in Steve’s position, the corners of his mouth still curled up. 

“A dame run out on you?”

Steve chokes on air, cheeks quickly lighting up.

“Wh-what?”

“Come on Steve, I know kiss bruised lips when I see ‘em. No need to hide from good ‘ol uncle Buck, huh?” Bucky’s teasing smile warps into a shit-eating grin as he reaches down to bodily haul Steve to his feet.

“Ah, Buck come on! You know me,” He bites down on his tongue for a moment, staggering through excuses, “A lady wouldn’t kiss me for a dollar.”

Bucky’s expression drops slightly, he’s never taken kindly to Steve putting himself down in any way, even with something as seemingly small as this must seem to him.

“For a dollar, Steve? Selling yourself short there I think, I’d kiss you for a penny!” 

The taller man leans in, lips puckered and making obnoxiously loud kissing noises that have Steve laughing freely while trying to push him away.

“Gross!”

Bucky just laughs and leans back of his own accord.

“Haven’t had any complaints yet.”

“I don’t need to know your doll dizzy exploitations.”

“Woah! Big words from the little guy.”

“Shut it, fat-head. You know what it means.”

“I know it’s a bum-rap!”

“Tell that to your last 6 dolls!”

Bucky makes a high noise and lunges at him, playfully tackling him back to the ground.

“You take that back you little chump!”

Steve just laughs, tussling back as they play wrestle.

He didn’t, hadn’t, realised how much he’d missed this. The comfortable familiarity of his own home, play fighting and throwing jabs, Bucky...He’d known he was a little homesick, for sure, but he’d been so distracted by Tony that he’d forgotten to be properly upset over the whole, “suddenly being in the future thing”. Maybe...maybe it was all just a weird fever-dream sort of thing, though that wouldn’t really line up with his sudden impact to the floor and the fact that Bucky could tell that he’d just been kissing someone. Right now though, he doesn’t have to think to hard about that. No. Right now he has to give Bucky a run for his money.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I'm not dead! Here's the semi-short chapter wrapping things up with baby Steve! Getting close to the end here....
> 
> Real deal - generally meaning "the real thing," in this case it would refer to the idea that Steve actually fell really hard, not just a little bump or slip. Hard enough to alert Bucky from another room.
> 
> Doll dizzy - girl crazy
> 
> Fat-head - A stupid or foolish person
> 
> Bum-rap - False accusation
> 
> Dolls - girls, girlfriends


	10. Chapter 10

Steve groans lowly, an odd sort of burning, throbbing feeling moving through his body. He’s no stranger to pain, but this isn’t like being punched, even through a wall. This is not a violent, hurting sort of 'pain,' it’s more of a full body headache. He slowly rolls himself up to a sitting position, blinking blearily.

“Steve!?” It’s Tony’s voice that calls out from slightly above him, and his head snaps up quickly to look for the man, only to find them face to face and only inches apart.

Tony’s face is split by a teeth showing grin, though his eyes looks as though he’s sad or confused. Steve blinks at their proximity and tentatively smiles.

“What happened?” He asks, stiffening but not moving away when Tony throws his arms around him and pulls him bodily into a tight hug.

“God I love you.” 

Where Steve hadn’t stiffened before, he certainly did now. The sentence is muttered quietly into his shoulder, but even if it was heavily muffled Steve’s hearing is more enhanced than the average human’s, and his face begins to burn.

“You what?”

Tony pulls back, his face is far more closed off than it is usually, an obvious attempt to cover up whatever had just been said. He’s been a close friend of the man for long enough to know the simple tells for lies and discomfort. 

“What?” Tony parrots back before quickly moving on, standing up from where he was seated and spreading out his hands like he does when he’s talking about something he’s particularly passionate about. “You know you’ve been gone for a while, but we didn’t even have to do anything to bring you back! I mean, trust me Steve, we were working on it, got about as far as ‘definitely magic’ before, well, before you just poofed on right in fr-”

Steve wraps his hand around one of Tony’s calves, not holding it tightly, but squeezing it just enough to get his attention. He’s always thought that Tony was beautiful, but as Tony looks down to meet his eyes he gets a new perspective view that has his fingers itching for a pencil. 

“Tony, breathe.” He says, letting his lips pull pack up into a smile. If Tony didn’t just say that because he had been ‘missing,’ something he didn’t know but wasn’t shocked by especially when the word magic was brought up, then those words wouldn’t be nearly as scary as Tony seems to think they are. “I’m here now, so we’ll figure out what happened, okay?”

Tony blinks at him, wide eyed and frozen in place. For a genius, as soon as it came to people that he cared about he became a complete idiot. 

Steve looked down and quickly pulled his hand away once he noticed that he was still holding onto the other man’s leg. He’s been skirting around his debilitating crush for more than a year now, trying to keep his infatuation away from the close friendship that they had cultivated. Tony meant a lot to him, despite their initial animosity and headbutting, they actually found a sort of solace in each other. He rubs a hand over his hot face and lets out a slow breath of air.

“Can you…” He shouldn’t say anything, really, really shouldn’t. He should drop it, could drop it, and just let things shift back to the way that they were before as he always tried to do when he slipped up. “Can you say that again?”

Tony lets out a very forced sounding laugh and falls back stiffly into his chair as Steve slowly gets to his feet, moving so that everything he does is very obviously telegraphed as to avoid frightening Tony away. 

“What?” The man tries, shoulders straight as he puts on his Press smile. “That you went missing from magic?”

Steve furrowed his brow slightly. It was another chance to take it all back, to just drop it, but something tells him not to. 

“No. You said that you loved me.”

“What?” Tony huffs out a rough laugh, eyes flicking to the door of the lab then back. “You can’t really be having hearing problems. I know you’re over 90, but you've got better hearing than an owl.” 

“Tony, please.” Steve leans down slightly, reaching out his hand to touch Tony’s shoulder but aborts the attempt just a couple of inches shy of actually touching him. “Maybe this isn’t the best thing to be talking about since you say I’ve been missing, but...I’d...Can you say it again, if-if you mean it?” He finally sputters out, flicking his own eyes all around before looking back at Tony, who looks about as surprised and uncomfortable as he feels himself. 

“I-” Tony opens and then closes his mouth, takes a deep breath, and when he looks back up he has the same sort of determined look on his face that he does before starting a new project or even going into battle. “I love you.”

The man blows out a loud breath, and fixes Steve in a captivating stare. 

“I love you and I’m just going to fucking say it because it’s true and baby you said that I should just go for it ‘cause you were ‘gone on me,’ and if he’s wrong I’m gonna build a Goddamn mind wipe machine.”

Steve’s first thought is one of genuine joy and relief followed quickly by confusion. Luckily, Steve is more than familiar with all sorts of confusion, and has been feeling it in at least a low level since he came to just a few minutes ago.

“Firstly, I...love you too, Tony.” He forces out, and if it’s possible, he thinks his face has turned even more red, or maybe his splotchy Irish-skinned blush is just spreading down over his chest. Those words are all it takes for Tony’s eyes to light up, his hands shooting forward to grab at Steve, managing to catch him off guard and send him careening forward until his hands land on either side of Tony’s body, braced precariously on the arms of his work chair. It suddenly gets quite a bit harder to think and speak as Tony’s breath puffs over his lips, and getting any closer would cause his eyes to cross. He swallows thickly and mentally backpedals a bit. “Secondly, baby me?”

Tony’s smile shifts into something more lopsided.

“Guess I have some things to explain, huh?” He asks, though there’s something soft and teasing in his voice that makes Steve’s eyes flutter and a shiver go through his body. “Think that can wait for a little bit?”

Steve licks his lips and opens his mouth to answer, but all that comes out is an embarrassing and unintelligible sound that has him snapping his mouth shut.

Tony chuckles lowly, eyes sparkling. “Maybe just a few minutes then.”

Steve wants to say something, he really does. He thinks that they should talk about this now. He thinks that maybe they should let the others know that he’s ‘back’. He thinks that he’d really like to know what happened, but with Tony this close, with Tony looking like that, with Tony  _ loving _ him, everything can maybe take a little bit of a back seat…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aha! Look at that. Big Steve is back and Tony sucks up his stubborn pride and they're in love and Steve's a flustered idiot.
> 
> This is pretty much the unofficial end of this fic! The reason I say unofficial is because I am planning on adding epilogue pieces where the little family reunites, Steve gets the 411 on what went on while he was MIA, and he and Tony maybe go on a date and kiss? So don't worry over the completed tagging if you really want that stuff, because I do too. (If you are interested, please let me know? It'll be a backup to the idea that I want to add these bits on, but if no one is really interested I may just forgo it...not because I don't want to add it, but because I'm doing a BB and I've got a novella to write- but if people want the goods I am more than happy to deliver!)
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a bit of a guide/key:
> 
> 1) The main illnesses exhibited in this first chapter are Steve's: Astigmatism - makes everything seem blurry and  
> Partial Deafness - I made him be almost completely deaf in his right ear
> 
> 2)40's and war slang:  
> whistling dixie - to be wrong or mistaken  
> beating your gums - to talk a lot
> 
> 3) (AES) American Eugenics Society -  
> Founded in 1926  
> "improving genetic quality of the human population"
> 
> 4) A visual example of Steve's colour blindness (tritanopia): https://thumbs.dreamstime.com/z/tritanopia-27568141.jpg
> 
> 5) Steve is 23, and it's 8 days before he goes to the Dogers V Phillies game@ Ebbets Field, Brooklyn, NY
> 
> ___
> 
> Please let me know what you think. Feel free to ask questions, and leave comments and criticisms.  
> -Castor


End file.
